


how to breathe in and feel no hurt

by sweetuhcreature



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Precious Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF), Sick Character, Sickfic, Soft Corpse Husband (Video Blogging RPF), Soft Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF), Vomiting, technically platonic but def some crushing i'd say, u can choose to ignore that if you'd like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 21:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30112458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetuhcreature/pseuds/sweetuhcreature
Summary: Corpse clears his throat and waits for Sykkuno’s expression to turn irritated but it never does. He feels a little bit farther from the brink of death, more achy and feverish than anything now. It could still get worse though, Corpse knows. His burning eyes flicker from the floor to Sykkuno, who smells like honey and looks tired in a different way than Corpse imagines he does himself. Softer, sleepier, less sunken.He's in the process of choking up the inevitable ‘I’m fine’ when Sykkuno actually reaches over and murders him.
Relationships: Corpse Husband & Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF), Corpse Husband/Sykkuno (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 324





	how to breathe in and feel no hurt

Sykkuno’s fingers are so gentle, so _hesitant_ in Corpse’s hair that he wants to scream, wants to vocalize the way he aches, in his bones and in his fingertips, to feel his touch with real weight.

He can’t and he doesn’t, opting instead to drop his head -- forcing himself not to lose focus on Sykkuno’s hands, one supporting his forehead and the other at the nape of his neck, twirling his dark overgrown curls between his fingers -- and let the inner lining of his throat pour past his lips and into the toilet bowl. Beneath the sound of his own dragging groan, Corpse distantly acknowledges that he’s never experienced such silent company with Sykkuno. There’s gratefulness behind his eyes and despondency in his chest at the thought. He doesn’t talk or even mumble that little “uh-huh,” he does when he doesn’t know what else to say. All his presence is in his hands and his warmth. 

When Corpse hiccups, Sykkuno audibly exhales, and the sound is so close to his voice that Corpse finds himself chasing it, straining his eyes just to get a glimpse at Sykkuno’s shoulder, his jaw, and the reassuring perk at the corner of his lips. He notices their sudden droop before he can even tell that he’s heaving again, only really acknowledging it when the support on his forehead migrates to his jaw as Sykkuno cups his chin and pushes his face back over the porcelain. 

The spluttering of his stomach contents is secondary to the sudden bout of agony in his neck. He twitches, fighting the repercussions of movement as his muscles make their way through the cramp and he pukes. 

  
  


Some time passes, maybe a lot of it, and Corpse finds himself using the edge of the bathtub as a pillow, legs outstretched across the tile and arms resting cadaverously at his sides. In dark green sweatpants, Sykkuno is sitting at his side, staring at his own folded hands.

Corpse makes a grave mistake. “S-Syk--?”

Sykkuno perks beside him, meets his eyes.

“Hi,” he says, and it’s golden. “Don’t talk if it hurts.”

Corpse opens his mouth, closes it, and nods. The white noise of the AC sends a chill down his spine that Sykkuno doesn’t miss. He shifts his weight to one leg, turning on his side to face Corpse fully. He rests his arm on the bathtub and holds his head up with his hand for a second before grimacing. 

“That’s not comfortable,” he laughs softly. He pushes Corpse’s shoulder gently with his own, then, “Can I help you up?”

From playing games with the older boy, Corpse has always known that Sykkuno is extremely observant, but it still surprises him sometimes, how great he is at reading people. Corpse’s eyes widen by the most miniscule of margins, momentarily frantic at the idea of burdening Sykkuno physically, but he thinks he collects himself well. Still, Sykkuno matches his energy, speaking in a way that’s slightly more familiar now. 

“I-I mean, if you want. If you don’t want me to-- If you don’t wanna move, I can get pillows or something. Assuming you don’t want me to just leave you alone. That’s fine, too, I just wanna he--”

_“Sykkuno.”_

He flinches at the sound of Corpse’s raw voice. “Y-Yeah?”

With great difficulty, Corpse pushes himself into a less slanted sitting position, accidentally pushing himself up off Sykkuno’s thigh, who watches him with careful, patient eyes. He even places his own hand over Corpse’s, silently assuring him that the weight on his leg is okay. 

“Sorry,” he croaks. 

“Wha-- no. You don’t have to be sorry, Corpse.”

He knows that. Corpse is honestly way past apologizing for his health, to most people. Sykkuno, however, isn’t one of those people. He always foolishly hoped he would never even have to associate the two deeper than a simple _feel better, Corpse!! :D_ text that he’d probably guiltily ignore. Being like this -- _feeling_ like this -- around Sykkuno always felt sort of impossible. 

But that was before Sykkuno had seen his face. 

“So, do you want that help or do you want me to go? I can bring you anything you need before I do, if you wanna be alone.”

Corpse clears his throat and waits for Sykkuno’s expression to turn irritated but it never does. He feels a little bit farther from the brink of death, more achy and feverish than anything now. It could still get worse though, Corpse knows. His burning eyes flicker from the floor to Sykkuno, who smells like honey and looks tired in a different way than Corpse imagines he does himself. Softer, sleepier, less sunken. 

He’s in the process of choking up the inevitable ‘ _I’m fine’_ when Sykkuno actually reaches over and murders him. 

He doesn’t, really. He squeezes his thigh, but the noise that shoots from behind Corpse’s teeth is guttural nonetheless. He whimpers, almost, and seems to lose complete control of his mind for just long enough to squeak out a barely audible, “Stay.”

Blinding sunlight erupts from Sykkuno’s smile. He bounces on his legs, pats Corpse’s thigh for good measure, and says, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

When the day begins to vanish beneath the skyline, Corpse is aware of three things: Sykkuno’s arms, tied like rope around him, Sykkuno’s thighs, on either side of him, and Sykkuno’s breath, hot on his back. Four, maybe, if you count Sykkuno’s voice, wavering in and out of comprehension. Five if you count the orange hue that envelopes the entire room and feels so warm Corpse can almost taste it. It’s not an experience he normally gets with the blinds closed, but Sykkuno’s here and suddenly everything changes. Suddenly he lets the sun in, even if just to see the way it illuminates his eyes. 

“--kay. It’s okay, It’s--”

Corpse supposes he also knows that he’s shaking. He knows that Sykkuno’s arms are wet from his tears and snot, and that his chin on Corpse’s head is a futile attempt to stop his teeth from chattering. Corpse knows that his knees, swung over the edge of his bed are knocking together and that Sykkuno can’t stop any of it. He also knows that he still tries. 

Sykkuno shushes him, so he must be making some sort of noise. 

“I know--” _He doesn’t_ , but the sound of the statement briefly disrupts the rhythm of Corpse’s tremors. “It’ll kick in soon, okay?” _What will?_ Corpse thinks Sykkuno kisses his hair. “I promise.”

Sykkuno’s encouraging words are more for himself than Corpse, probably because Sykkuno knows he can barely focus hard enough to make out the words. He seems confident that Corpse won’t notice when he anxiously vocalizes that the sick man is sweating through both their shirts. 

At his observation, Corpse feels the need to let Sykkuno know he’s alright. Well… that he will be. The best he can do is wiggle in his grip. 

Sykkuno releases him immediately. 

“C-Corpse?”

The taller man slumps over, wrapping his arms around himself in place of Sykkuno’s. He grunts, takes three excruciatingly slow breaths, and knows (sort of) that he’s seen the worst of it tonight. The worst of it _this month_ , probably, and… Oh God… Sykkuno… 

“Corpse?”

“Mmhm,” is the best he can do. 

Unbeknownst to Corpse, Sykkuno extends a hand to rub his shoulder, then retracts it. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and chews on the battered skin there.

Very, very quietly, he asks, “Is it always this bad?”

Corpse is silent for so long that Sykkuno isn’t sure he heard the question. With no intention of repeating it, he watches Corpse shake. The longer he watches his back, the more the trembling slows, but it doesn’t stop. 

“No.”

Sykkuno blinks, dazed. “H-Huh?”

“It’s not always this -- this bad.”

Sykkuno nods. He doesn’t realize Corpse can’t see him. “Oh, that’s good. I mean, it’s not _good_ , but you know…”

God, Sykkuno should just punch himself in the face. 

Corpse tense shoulders rise slowly, then fall, but not all the way back down to where they were before. 

“I’m sorry--”

“--I already told you not to be! It’s not your fau--”

“--if I scared you, Sy.”

Both boys purse their lips. The instinct that almost shoots past Sykkuno’s tongue is _‘You didn’t scare me,’_ but it’s not true, and since when does he lie to Corpse?

“It’s okay. I’m just glad I was here, you know, ‘cause I wouldn’t want you to, like, be alone, and I know that you’re perfectly capable and stuff and that you do it all the ti-- I mean, I just, I know you didn’t _need_ me here, but I’m glad that I was,” Sykkuno exhales shakily. “Sorry.”

Corpse chuckles, lower than ever. Sykkuno lets his eyes close the way he sometimes does when they’re playing together offstream and somebody makes Corpse laugh. Such a lovely sound, even now. 

“But seriously. It’s not your fault. And you didn’t, like, scare me _away_ or anything. I was just worried about you.”

Corpse is silent again. Sykkuno waits, but this time there’s no delayed response. 

“What do you usually do now? Like to u-unwind?”

Corpse hums. “Sleep, maybe.”

Sykkuno crinkles his nose at Corpse’s sweaty back. “Right…”

“I’m gross, right?”

“What? N-No! Of course not!”

He laughs again. 

“I’m embarrassed,” he admits in a tone just shy of joking. “But not embarrassed enough to, like, get up and change.”

It still sounds like every word is excruciating, so Sykkuno extra-appreciates the effort he’s making to appear light-hearted, even though it’s unnecessary. He huffs, slides off Corpse’s bed and across the floor to meet his face. _Corpse’s face_ , he realizes with wonder, as he does about 3 times per conversation these days. 

“Where do you keep your t-shirts?”

Corpse tilts his head and his hair flops a little. “You wanna wear my t-shirt?”

Sykkuno straightens up at that. He stifles a nervous excuse for a laugh behind his hand, crimson creeping up the skin that Corpse can still see. “I-- I meant for you!”

The way Corpse sluggishly blinks, then nods, lets Sykkuno know he wasn’t joking, but genuinely confused. Sykkuno swallows hard. “Uh huh,”

Eventually, Corpse points to a dresser in the corner of the room -- which, duh -- and Sykkuno begins to relax as he approaches it. _Don’t be weird, Sykkuno._

His hands are in a pile of half-folded fabric that smells like Corpse. He settles on a white tee and laughs quietly to himself at his choice. He’s debating whether to express his idiotic joke about Corpse’s song or keep it to himself when Corpse pipes up from the bed.

“Grab two.”

“Oh--?”

“You got me kinda excited about the idea of you sleeping in my t-shirt.”

He’s teasing. Sykkuno knows that. Sykkuno _so_ knows that, but Corpse doesn’t feel well, and really, it would be kinda cruel to not meet his demands. Right?

So, fairly certain he’s going to die, Sykkuno grabs a black shirt for himself and waddles awkwardly over to Corpse, who, of course, is laughing. He takes the white shirt from him, and when it seems like Sykkuno is going to retreat to the couch to change and fall asleep, Corpse stands on ailing legs, grabs holds of his wrist and says, with much more certainty this time, 

“Stay.”


End file.
